Double-mindedness!

Not a few times in our lives we are going to see how similar things, even almost identical, are judged with double-mindedness: people, situations, attitudes, etc.
I am concerned that some people are attributed a certain image in the world, and if everyone is silent, no one objects, no one fights, no one tries to change the perception of them, to educate, to explain, those people in time will be condemned to go into society with a stigma crueler than they have today. Yes, often silence is golden, you pretend that it’s raining outside, pretending to be Zen is preferable, but sometimes it’s really the opposite because silence can perpetuate something wrong to infinity. And today it’s one wrong thing, two things tomorrow, it will be three after tomorrow, and later all of them.
But maybe one of the most charming stories but full of wisdom I read is about frogs, and no, not the one with the prince … Here is the story:
“How can you talk about the ocean with a frog that lives in a well?
A frog lived in a well all its life. One day it was surprised to find another frog.
– Where did you come from? It asked the newly arrived guest.
– From the sea. That’s where I live.
– How’s the sea? Is it as big as my fountain?
The other frog began to laugh:
– There’s no comparison.
The host frog pretended to be interested in the stories of the newcomer, but in its mind, it thought: “Of all the liars I have met in my life, this is definitely the biggest and the rudest one.”

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Fortunate are those who have the luxury of always being relaxed in some chapters of life. I honestly envy those who can do that. Of course, the fancy walls in which they live protect them from questions they have no arguments for, but those thick walls that keep them safe are directly proportional to the size of their own ignorance …
No one is born knowing everything, but no one has an excuse to die ignorant ( Except if you were born with a cognitive handicap.)!
Ignorance is not a blessing (even if this is what the Pope in Rome said), ignorance kills!

“We think too small. Like the frog at the bottom of the well. He thinks the sky is only as big as the top of the well. If he surfaced, he would have an entirely different view.”

– Mao Tse Tung

The truth, mon cher, hurts!

People usually appreciate sincerity, or at least that’s what everyone advocates. That, until you tell them the truth, your truth of course. Yes, the truth as you perceive it, as you observe an event, the weather, the gesture or the expression of someone. Then, being wounded, they punish you by turning away from sincerity. They seek honesty, up to the truth expressed in sincerity (yes, I know, almost a pleonasm). Emotional pain becomes intolerable, and sincerity becomes vulgar or insensitive. In some cases, it really gets like this; you even have to deal with it.
You can express truth in delicate shades. Not brutally. But what you declare as truth, sincere in your statement, inevitably has a hint of brutality.
Either if you want it or not, you will cut into the living flesh of the deep need for acceptance of the other. The thicker the need, the deeper and more painful the cut.
Sincerity is a two-edged knife. With one of the edges, you can cut into the flesh of lies and pretense, to the bones of truth. With the other edge, you’ll cut off the branch you’re standing on.

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The value of sincerity, as I mentioned earlier, can cut into the emotional flesh. Your body, where the knife of sincerity was jammed into, reacts. An emotional wound hurts like any wound. Either you depress yourself, or you get infuriated. Between these two entirely emotional registers, your answer will be automatically entered. It’s the emotional reaction that appears inside of you spontaneously. The one who values sincerity will assume the confrontation with such responses from the other. What follows is the reaction or retreat. Personally, I don’t see how you can reach another person unless you are honest.
The truth will release you, but before that, it will hurt you. It will hurt you badly!
Sincerity, as value, lies beyond the psychological plan. It’s a kind of guide that keeps you away from the tangled paths of lies and hypocrisy, keeping you on the way of truth. But on its own, it seems to be a brutal guide. I have always liked a story about truth, a story that shows us the syncope, in which we each live when we practice truth and sincerity. And now let me tell you the story, and then you decide!
“A young man thirsty for knowledge started to look for the truth.
He crossed many countries, and crossed many seas, he descended to the deepest cliffs, and he climbed the highest mountains.
And then, when he lost all hope, in a forgotten village, his search was over. In an almost collapsed house, sitting in front of the fire was the truth.
In all his life he has never seen an older and uglier man.
– Are you the Truth?
The old man shook his head as if he was to say yes.
– Tell me, what do I have to tell the world? What news do I have to give them?
The old man spat at the fire and replied:
– Tell them I’m young and beautiful! “

The Möbius band…

As in chemistry: “Nothing is lost, nothing is added, but everything is transformed,” so the human being passes through the world. We are the puppets of the cyclical time, of the archetype, which throws us into the seemingly unordered world, precisely to respect the Order. We are faithful children of the universal matrix, people created in the image and its resemblance, which each of us refreshes and resumes.
The idea of cyclicity of the time that resumes, of the spiral, is strongly emphasized by the Möbius band. The seasons are cyclical, a “tour of the band” equates to a new year. The leaf could best emphasize this infinite repetition. The spring becomes a bud, the summer is green and full of life, the autumn is painted in warm colors, the winter falls, it disappears in spring, because Möbius’s band leaves nothing to lose, and the road once passed will be resumed to infinity . Each leaf, like every human being, has its own band, it’s born, it blooms, withers and dies to revive, then to resume the cycle. An eventual exit would never be possible, the band condemns to repeatability, to the “endless end” that G. Bacovia speaks of.

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The archetype also gives man a dual character. The human being has both good and evil. Thus, like his/her band, which apparently has only two faces, so man is defined by good parts and evil parts. We are beautiful and ugly, happy and sad, white and black at the same time, our soul being, in fact, gray. So, although we have two faces, what defines us is the FACE created by them, the balance between them, their joining, the way they mix. The Yin-Yang Circle, Möbius’s band, is essentially a self-portrait of the human being, who lives by and due to contradictions.
Möbius’s band is a metaphor for everything that’s simple, but surprising and difficult to predict. It is the product of magic and the symbol of dreams. It is everywhere. It can be considered a symbol of self-turning transformation, miracle, overturning, and restoration. It is an image of immortality!

About love, but not about love that produces blindness to poultry…

I think it’s not an exaggeration when I say that each of us has not learned what love is, participating in personal development courses, philosophy, or reading about it. Taking me as an example, I swear :), that no book or philosophical work has been of any use to me and has not increased my understanding of the paradisal phenomenon, or of the emotion that can get you encompassed when you hear of love.
I’m sure I’m lucky, 🙂 I didn’t waste my time with the futility of reading about love, but learning (again with some luck) 🙂 from experience with loving people, (in love with “blooming”) what love is.
But not about my experiences, which (seriously and entirely I have dedicated myself to the bone marrow) I want to talk, merely about the boundaries of love.
The question that it’s often asked is: Does love have limits?
Yes, it has limits, I say that loudly and clearly! When we experience love for anything (being, idea, things, concepts, values), it is preferable to do it with intelligence. Love without limits is the love of our teenage Ego, which some adults feel when they are in love with a new partner.
 These adults, these grown-up people, (metaphorically speaking :)) become blind, and then they start fumbling. In simplified terms, it is what we call “blindness to poultry.”
The emotion of love for them becomes overwhelming, destructive, anarchic. Their lives (or each of our lives, at some point, maybe) becomes confused, almost chaotic.
The fullness, the maturity of love is when you can fall in love without the experience of love to overwhelm other areas of your existence!

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 By my mind, you love without intelligence when you respond to the needs of your mind (not of the one loved) when you foolishly suffocate the other with your care and affection when you sacrifice yourself without limits. You love without intelligence when you are intrusive when you sabotage each initiative and any change of the other when you permanently restrict and conceal the spontaneity of the other one that you “love”  :), or when you are looking to change the other because you want him/her differently!
In other words, you love without intelligence when you try to adjust him/her, to shape the other, in your image and likeness, because you spontaneously became the god of your relationship.
So how can we love intelligently? Nothing simpler: we are thoroughly and intelligently in love when we create conditions for the other “to be as he/she is” and we seek to create circumstances (concretely) as the one you love “to be as it pleases him/her” and this in realistic terms. Or metaphorically, we create conditions to “bloom.” Even in a way that you “the one in love” isn’t satisfied by that!
And all this loving but intelligent process requires when you are engaged in the act of love, a moral value that is called…?  Ah, I forgot! ( haha );)) (not accidentally!) from you (or from me)… ;). (Acceptance!) 😉

Vanity suppresses decency…

We have all read legends and mythology. We all learned about Apollo’s masterpiece in singing Lyra. Only two musicians (due to pride and self-confidence) dared to challenge him: Athena and Marsyas. According to the old texts, Marsyas was superior to the god both through his instrument and the gameplay he invented. Therefore the god could only defeat him by trickery. In the first round, Marsyas was superior to the god. He played so beautifully that King Midas, named the referee in addition to the Muses, wanted to give Marsyas the victory. Midas was punished with dog ears. In the second round, the god took over the lead through a trick.
The god imposed the condition that the winner could do what he liked with the defeated. Inevitably, Apollo won and he decided to kill Marsyas alive, skinning him, and throwing him into the lions’ pit. Ovid in his Metamorphoses describes the agony of the satyr, during which the earth drank all the tears of the wooded spirits and of the gods who wept for it. From these tears, a watercourse was formed in Phrygia, a river called Marsyas.

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Success, inevitably stimulates vanity (even in gods), anesthetizing the sense of futility. Where is Apollo today? In the dark of history and mythology. But the failure is on the same catastrophic principle: it is followed, more than ever, by powerful waves of frustration in which the obsession of persecution, the envy and the hate of all, and all of it, end up striking the pathology. A perfidious form of vanity is expressed in the belief that it is preponderant, the vice of others.
Unfortunately, no one is immune to this abysmal and contagious vice. Or almost nobody. And finally it deforms our souls. Vanity strikes in foolish people (who become proud and infatuated) as well as in smart people (who become fools). Vanity is corrosive at the individual level and equally dangerous at the couple or collectively. The slippage and bankruptcy of many lives are explained precisely through the latent insanity of vanity.
What is behind the parable: our mutilated souls, the lost beauty of life, the image of the camel that carries raisins on the back but eats hawks.